Buzz light years away and years away from that light year
by Christos Polydorou
Hiding is a breeze.
It’s practically effortless to live in depraved solitude nowadays
and call it “a monastic ideally transcendental phase.”
Unread books in nervous stacks.
Trips to the supermarket obliterated at the need by a delivery dude.
Get a laptop, a smartphone.
Are those even the right names for those things anymore?
Everything can be delivered to your door.
Do you use Tinder? Grindr?
You don’t have to be able to accommodate,
but it helps.
Hardly work from home.
Let no one see you age.
Allow no one to see your humanity.
Lie to everyone about having gone to outer space.
Mispronounce Nasa, out of spite.
Oh poor Buzz, sitting in a chair,
pressing buttons, startled into a tremble,
when he thinks he feels Death
in the room, as he has,
ever since he was a little boy:
Shoo! Kshoo! Tsssssss!!!